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A Few More Things That Make You a Douche-tastic Douche
I. You Hang a Pair of Balls Off the Back of Your Car
I stayed at a hotel during the bar exam so I didn’t have to commute to and from the testing center. One day, as I was returning to my room after another grueling day of staring blankly at a bunch of questions I didn’t know the answers to, I noticed a truck parked in the hotel parking lot. I usually don’t pay any attention to cars, but this one refused to go unnoticed.
First of all, it was covered in decal stickers: there was a “TAPOUT” sticker in one corner of the rear cab window, and in the other corner there was one of those decals that make it look like a baseball is smashed in the window. There were fake bullet holes on the driver’s-side door, and a “Los Angeles Clippers” decal, two “KROQ” stickers, and a bunch of other stuff stuck on the back of the truck.
And, as if it weren’t enough of a hot mess, hanging down from the back of the truck was a pair of “Truck Nutz”—yes, fake balls made for cars.
Seeing those “Truck Nutz” led to a sudden revelation: Oh! Now I get it! The truck owner is totally manly! After all, only the manliest of men would cover every inch of his ride with meaty decals—but this man was clearly manlier than that because he actually paid money to purchase the pair of rubber testicles he was now proudly displaying off the back of his truck. This guy wasn’t just plain ol’ manly—he was super manly!
…Or so the truck owner probably wanted us all to believe. Unfortunately, however, the only message I got from looking at his fug-on-wheels was that the owner was a Douche-tastic Douche who didn’t want anyone to find out that his penis and balls were swallowed up by his cavernous vagina.
I know...my taco-shell-drawing skills need work.
Sorry, but when you turn your car into your second penis, it makes the rest of us wonder what happened to your first one. I think most people would give you the benefit of the doubt and believe you still had a dong—albeit a shamefully small one. The rest of us, however, would take your overly-manly car and its sad pair of “Truck Nutz” as a sign that your penis committed suicide by using one of your pubes as a noose to prevent the blood from circulating to it, thus allowing it to shrivel up and die before your Douche-tastic antics could shame it any further.
The moral of the story: putting testicles on your car not only makes us question the existence of your penis—it also makes you look like a Douche-tastic Douche!
II. You Send Mass Messages About Your Personal Xanga Drama
Mass messaging was on my first post about Douche-tastic Douchiness, and it’s unfortunately making an appearance on this list even though I know I’m committing a cardinal sin by calling any of my beloved fellow Xangans out for being douchie. Just keep in mind that I typed this part up with a heavy heart, and that it’s not meant to be taken personally.
This time, the mass messaging I’m talking about is specifically limited to those involving Xangan versus Xangan drama. Xangan A gets into a blog war with Xangan B, and the two of them battle it out through their posts—a few of which end up on the “Explore” page (nice!). Then B sends a mass message to everyone on his “Friends” list, telling them about the drama he is embroiled in, and asking them to somehow help him in the fight against A.
I’m not saying that having Xanga drama makes a person douchie. The purpose of blogging is, after all, to share your ideas with others. And inevitably, not everyone is going to agree with you—some may even end up hating you for whatever it was that you said—but that’s how the dissemination of ideas works.
Such drama only becomes douchie when you try to bring in an uninvolved Xangan—i.e., a Xangan whom you’ve never otherwise messaged or conversed with, and is outside of your close group of Xanga friends. Yes, even in a world that’s made up of text and avatars, it’s still possible to form cliques and groups.
When Xangan B starts mass messaging Xangans outside his clique or group, he starts looking like a Douche-tastic Douche who wants to win the blogging battle without actually fighting it himself. And it’s even worse if B’s got a history of getting into blog battles with various other Xangans. After awhile, people start wondering if B’s just purposely getting into drama so he can get attention. Hey, I’m all for getting on the “Explore” list, but I think there are less douchie (and less inbox clutter-some) ways to do it.Everyone is susceptible to Xanga drama, but using a mass message to get outside people involved in your own blogging battles makes you a Douche-tastic Douche.
III. You are Criss Angel
I hate you.
IV. Your “+Race/Ethnicity” Screen Name is Kind of…Off
This isn't really Douche-tastically Douchie, but it could be depending on the situation.The “+Race/Ethnicity” screen name is one that has the user’s race or ethnicity in it. There are only so many ways you can define yourself online, and one way is to include your race or ethnicity in your screen name. Also, adding your race or ethnicity sometimes helps when the screen name you originally wanted is already taken, or is one that is so common that you’d have to put a long string of numbers at the end just so you could use it.
Most words can be combined with a race or ethnicity without any problems, but some combinations can result in screen names that look kind of...off.
Case in point: I once read a board posting written by someone with the screen name “AznKiller.” Yes, as in “Asian killer.”
The topic of the board was about the Japanese anime “Naruto,” so I thought, “Okay, this guy's screen name means 'killer who is Asian.'" But when I read his post, he was totally hating on “Naruto” and its fans—so then I thought, “OMG…this guy kills Asians…or, at least those of us who love ‘Naruto’!”
I actually think “AznKiller” simply didn’t consider the possibility that his screen name could be interpreted to mean “killer of Asians.” He was, after all, posting on a board dedicated to anime—something I don’t think a guy who kills Asians would waste time doing. But if he had posted on some pro-SARS board or whatever, well, then he’d obviously be a racist douche with a Douche-tastically Douchie screen name.
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I guess "soon" means "2 days later"--at least it does in this case.
As I said in my previous post, I managed to find time in between studying to do other things, like going to the little gym in my apartment complex. My workouts are pretty mundane--I'm usually on the stationary bike and playing a game on my PSP or Nintendo DS for about 30 minutes. It probably isn't the most effective exercise routine, and really, I'm only doing it to trick myself into believing I'm working out when in reality I'm just there to play video games.
Anyway, on one such break, I had gone to the gym with my DS and a mission: I was going to score a gold medal on the "Vampire Bat" level of "Picross 3D." I don't know if you've ever played the game, but (warning: nerd talk ahead) you basically start out with a 3-dimensional cluster of boxes, and you have to knock certain ones away to create some kind of object. If you can do this without accidentally knocking out a box you shouldn't have, and within a certain time limit, a little gold medal or something appears in the corner of the puzzle.
Up until this point, I had no trouble getting gold medals on any of the previous levels. Some puzzles took more than one attempt, but none required more than three. The freaking "Vampire Bat" level, however, was impossible for me to finish perfectly within the 5-minute time limit allotted for getting a gold medal. Try as I might, my results were always the same: sad-ass silver medals. And the more failed attempts I accumulated, the more obsessed I became with conquering a puzzle that had somehow become the bane of my existence.
But that day was going to be the day I put an end to my "Vampire Bat" misery. I was going to get a perfect score within 5 minutes--I could feel it.
There wasn't anyone in the gym except for me and a woman who was doing yoga stretches. I sat at a stationary bike, prepared for war and ready to reclaim my honor.
I was only one minute into the level, and had already managed to get an outline of the bat's shape. My confidence level was up, and I was feeling good...
But suddenly, this weird, creepiness showed up and ate up all my positive feelings. Was I mistaken, or was my Douchie Sense tingling?
I looked up and saw this standing right in front of me:
The woman doing yoga stretches was actually a man...a man with his hair in a bun, a creepy smile on his face, and an unmistakable Aura of Douchiness emanating from his pasty, creepy body. I have to be honest though: I don't know if his pants were actually grey. I didn't want to look because I was afraid of what I was going to see. Seriously, what kind of guy stands in front of a stranger with his hands on his hips? A guy who lets his penis hang out in public, that's what.
I was really caught off-guard, and wasn't quite sure what the proper response was supposed to be. Was he just admiring himself in the mirrors behind me? Was he a new resident who needed directions on how to get back to the complex? Was he just a creepy douche bag who liked to sneak up on random people, possibly while airing out his dong?
Only one way to find out:
And then he said:
What the f*ck? The guy started talking to me in Japanese! This was definitely not what I had expected from someone who clearly wasn't Japanese.
Now, while I don't speak the language, I took 2 years of Japanese class in high school, and had watched enough anime to understand a little of what the guy was asking--i.e., "Blah blah blah speak Japanese blah blah blah?" (Hey! High school was many years ago, okay? And I haven't watched much anime lately!)
I wanted him and his creepy douchiness to just go away, so I said:
You'd think that would have been enough to end the conversation, but guess what? The guy didn't go away; he instead started talking to me in English.
Oh, great! Well, now that we've gotten that out of the way--you'll leave me alone, right? Of course not...
This guy ended up going through the entire map of Asia or something: "Mongolian? Ulan-ude? Kyrgystanian?"
I finally just told him the answer because he had started to become extremely annoying, and I wanted him to get the hell away so I could go back to playing "Picross 3D." But he must have interpreted the situation differently because rather than leave, he went back to speaking Japanese.
Finally, after 5 minutes of this nonsense, he decided it was time to go back to his yoga stretches:
Bored?! You piece of sh*t! I had a DS in my hand, my earphones on, and I was semi-exercising on a stationary bike! I wasn't bored! I was busy!
As if it weren't bad enough that this creepy douche bag wasted my time, I also failed to get the gold medal again because I hadn't put the game on pause. I never did achieve my goal--ended up sending the game back to Gamefly because it was so tainted by the guy's Aura of Douchiness that I no longer found it entertaining.
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I need some serious advice about social etiquette. Here's the scenario:
You're walking down a hallway or sidewalk, and someone is coming towards you from the opposite direction. There isn't anyone else nearby--it's just you and this person whom you've never met before, and may never see again.
Question: are you supposed to say "hi" to this person? That sounds like a dumb thing to ask, but I'm genuinely lost as to this bit of social etiquette. The thought of greeting every person I pass by seems really cheesy, but completely ignoring someone when we're the only two people walking about seems really crappy, you know?
Since I don't know what the proper formalities are, I've been relying on several measures to help me avoid having to deal with the conundrum of deciding whether I should grace a stranger with a salutation, or walk by without acknowledging his existence. The methods vary, but they are all based on the same principle: notice prevention. You can't debate saying "hi" to someone you don't notice, right? So I figured all I have to do is make it seem as if I am too preoccupied with something else to notice the person who is walking towards me--that way, if I don't give a greeting, I won't come off as an impolite douche because the other person will see I'm too busy with whatever it is I'm doing. And if the social norm is to not require a greeting at all, well, then I just left the impression that I am a super busy person.
Anyway, here are my methods:
The Fake Cell Phone Call
One of the methods I've used is the Fake Cell Phone Call routine. That's pretty self-explanatory, right? You just put your phone up to your ear and start talking as if there's someone on the other end of the line, when you're really just having a conversation with yourself.
Pulling off a successful fake cell phone call under these circumstances requires 2 things, the first one being dependent upon the type of conversation you're pretending to have. The fake conversation has to be one that takes up your entire attention span; you have to act as if you're totally engaged in the topic, with no room for distractions.
A conversation you should not fake having is one where all you say is "uh huh" and "yeah." Think about when you're on the phone with someone who does all the talking: she's talking the entire time, and the most you can do is say "uh huh" and "yeah," when she takes the brief pause to breathe. If you're lucky, you might even sneak in variations like, "uh huh, you're right," and "yeah, I understand," but other than that, you're just listening to the other person talk--which isn't easy after the first hour or so. Your mind starts to wander...you might start playing "Spider Solitaire" or dusting your CD racks...
The point is, when you're having this type of conversation, your mind is still aware of what's going on around you. And that means you're still stuck possibly having to at least nod or smile at the person as he passes by--i.e., failure! And if you insist on pretending as if you don't notice the other person, he'll figure out that you're having a fake phone conversation--i.e., more failure!
So you have to have an active fake conversation--one that seems to take up your entire attention span. I like to use quotes from "Wall Street." I've never seen the movie, but I've memorized a few lines specifically for the purpose of having a successful fake phone call.
You'd be surprised at how long I've been able to get away with the "Wall Street" quotes, but I don't think my luck will last much longer. Once "Wall Street 2" comes out, more people will probably want to watch or re-watch the first one. And then I'll have to pick lines from another movie...maybe "Gigli," because no one on Earth has seen that gem.
Oh, as for the second requirement for pulling off a successful fake cell phone call--you should turn your phone off. Don't be like me and think that just because you get one or two phone calls a week, you're going to be safe when you're doing the fake call. Someone will call you right then and there. Trust me on this one. It has happened to me before...twice.
You know what's worse? Neither of the phone calls were for me! One was a wrong number, the other was a telemarketing recording about debt financing.
The Averted Eyes
The second method I use is to keep my eyes from looking ahead. Can't see if anyone is walking from the opposite direction if your eyes are trained elsewhere! I usually look at the ground.
I haven't used this one in awhile though, because I tend to walk in a slant when I'm not looking ahead. That has resulted in very unfortunate moments...
I do not recommend this strategy for any of you who have the same tendencies.
Fake Text Messaging
It's a slight variation on the Fake Cell Phone Call. I use this one the most because (1) I won't look like a dumbass if someone suddenly calls, and (2) I am less likely to walk into a wall, or slip off the sidewalk, or bump into the person I'm trying to avoid noticing.
You just have to look intently at your cell phone and press random keys. That's it. It's simple, painless, almost fool-proof...
I said "almost," didn't I? Here's another lesson from my ever-growing catalogue of awkward moments.
So I was on this little walkway that connects my apartment complex's fitness room to the main building. As I'm heading back, I notice someone was walking towards the fitness room...and thus, towards me, since I had just come from there. I didn't have my cell phone on me, but I did have this crumpled tissue in my pocket. I didn't know what else to do, so I took the tissue and started to stare at it.
I kept telling myself "this tissue is really interesting" because I thought it would help make my crap acting abilities seem more genuine. And I guess it worked well...really well...because the next thing I know, the guy stops and asks:
Maybe he knew I was trying to avoid noticing him, and was thus calling me out by asking me what I had in my hand--I don't know. All I know is that I was suddenly stuck in an awkward situation, and that could only mean 1 thing: my sh*tty thinking-on-my-feet skills were going to kick in.
I start trying to come up with an answer:
A tip for those of you who struggle with finding a fake answer to a "what do you have there?" question: start with "I have this..." because starting with "I have a..." pigeon-holes you into coming up with an answer that starts with an "a." And there aren't very many good ones you can come up with on the fly.
I'm standing there, stammering and stuttering, and suddenly my gut told me to say:
Sh*t! That wasn't a gut feeling--that was a butt feeling!
During those brief seconds between opening my mouth and saying those words, I somehow managed to rationalize telling this complete stranger I had AIDS: "If I tell him I have this incurable disease, he probably won't know what to say and will end the conversation right there!" What didn't occur to me was the fact that I would be telling someone that I had AIDS. Who lies about having AIDS?! I should have just said "hi"!
Anyway, the guy yelled "Holy hell!" and I speed-walked away.
Please, please, please tell me: what's the social etiquette rule for this?!
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I used to think that whoever came up with the "5 Second Rule" was an ass monger. Thanks to him, parents who were working hard to make sure there was food on the table were coming home to find their kids voluntarily eating stuff off the floor. And these weren't the type of kids you'd find in a sponsor-a-child infomercial--you know, the ones who are shown living in squalid conditions and eating rocks. No, the kids who were sucked into believing the ridiculous "5 Second Rule" were those who were raised in non-Third World countries. I don't know why, but that's how it has always been. Impoverished nation with little food = unlikely to hear about the rule; wealthy nation with lots of food = impossible not to hear of the rule before the age of 10.
The thought of this guy's stupid rule turning our future generations into garage eaters certainly warranted the title of "World's Assiest Ass Monger," but then I realized something: as young and impressionable as kids may be, only a small number of them actually believe the "5 Second Rule" is true. These are kids who believe in Santa Claus, and want to pursue a career as Spiderman; they can be tricked into going to the dentist (say he learned dentistry at Hogwarts) and eating vegetables ("eat your peas or else Pikachu will die!"), and have tried drinking gasoline after watching the "Transformers" movies. And yet, as innocent and unknowing as these children are, they aren't gullible enough to believe that the "5 Second Rule" makes it okay to eat sh*t off the ground.
Do you know this means? It means the "5 Second Rule" is really an ingenious way of testing a child's intelligence! And the guy who came up with it isn't just an ass monger--he's a smart-ass ass monger!
Children are typically exposed to the "5 Second Rule" like this:
What separates the smart kids from the dumb ones is the fact that the dumb ones need to see that the ground is actually filthy. They have to see the giant mucus ball someone spewed on the sidewalk, and the dog poop a jogger tracked in while on his morning run. These kids have to actually see how nasty the ground is before they realize the food they just dropped has become too tainted for consumption.
The smart kids don't need any visual evidence to know that the ground is a toxic cess pool. Once that cookie hits the floor, it's over--and that's not going to change no matter how quickly you were able to pick it up.
If you have a dumb kid, do not despair: there is a way to save him from a life of retardedness, and it all starts with shaking up his belief system--the core of which is the "5 Second Rule." Remember: the dumb kid believes in the rule because he has to see the ground is dirty before he figures out that the dropped food item is also dirty, so you will have to give him that visual.
Step 1: Get some poop. Horse poop, dog poop--it doesn't matter as long as it's really stank and nasty. Oh, and make sure it's peanut butter poopish--you know, a little squishy, but still solid enough to hold itself up in a pile.
Step 2: Get something the kid really loves to eat. Make sure the color contrasts from the color of the poop--e.g., don't use a chocolate cupcake if the poop pile is also dark brown.
Step 3: Drop the food onto the poop pile, and let the lesson run its course.
That's the best case scenario. In the off-chance that this should instead occur:
...Then you've got bigger things to worry about than the "5 Second Rule."
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I had the opportunity to do something super amazing last week. It's something I am sure very few people will ever get the chance to experience in their lives, and you're all going to be so jealous of me by the end of this post!
I was at home studying for the bar exam--yes, I am doing that sh*t again, but this time it's for the California bar. Passing the Hawaii exam isn't enough to get me a job right now--in fact, it actually limits me because I am restricted to whatever options are available in one state, and there aren't that many. But while I do like having all the free time that comes with being unemployed, my parents are not as thrilled, so I'll have to get a job eventually. After all, I probably owe them that much...you know, in return for giving me life and stuff.
As I was saying: I was studying for the bar exam when the gallons of coffee I had consumed suddenly decided it was time to be free. I headed to the bathroom, and right before I sat down on the toilet, I noticed something on the seat. I couldn't really tell what it was because my eyes were still blurry from reading pages and pages of tiny text, but it kind of looked like a small piece of thread.
As I leaned in for a closer look, however, what I thought was a piece of thread turned out to be a giant silverfish!
I don't know how it got there, or why it decided to hang out on a toilet seat, but it was nasty as all hell and had to be destroyed.
Luckily, I didn't have to do much to get rid of it because the silverfish sensed my presence, freaked out, and ran into the toilet bowl.
Since that was taken care of, I was able to get back to business...
Who's in danger? Urine danger!
Note: I had told a friend this story earlier, and he was like, "Ugh, I can't believe you peed on it! You should have flushed the toilet first." But why wouldn't I pee on it? It was in the bowl, which just so happened to be where I needed to deposit my pee. And it wasn't going to jump up and bite me on the ass, so there was no need for me to flush it down first. That'd just be a waste of water.
Once I was done, I flushed my waste and the silverfish away.
What hadn't been flushed away, however, was this mystery: why was the silverfish on the toilet seat, and how did it even get there in the first place?
I thought about these questions for two days--even putting my studies on hold because there was no way I was going to be able to focus on anything other than that damn silverfish. Did it fall from the vent? It's right above the toilet, but there is no way it would have been able to get through the filter. Had it crawled out from the back of the toilet? Did one of the cats put it there?
Just when it started to seem as if the hours I'd spent wracking my brain for answers would be in vain, I remembered something that happened about a year and a half ago. I was just about to go to sleep one night...
I can't draw perspectives for crap, and this is the closest I got to in terms of giving you an overhead view of the tub:
Indeed, the thing that I saw in the tub was a huge brown spider! I mean, it was just huge! Its legs were all...ugh...and its bulbous body...! It was so vile!
I wasn't going to let that monstrous creature stay there--hell no! But I wasn't going to rely on the catch-it-in-some-toilet-paper-and-crush-it-to-death method my parents use when dealing with insects because I was not that brave.
I instead took the easy way out and washed it down the drain with hot water.
Problem solved? Not quite. You see, the next morning...
No way...no freakin' way...!
It was back in my bathtub, even when I'd washed it away with hot water! It was back again, in all its disgusting glory! Its legs were all...ugh...its bulbous body...*barf*! This wasn't an ordinary spider--this was the itsy-bitsy spider on 'roids!
If hot water wasn't enough to kill it, I knew I had to resort to extreme measures:
I went to the kitchen and came back with a pot of boiling water.
Uwee hee! That thing turned into a crunchy ball the second the water touched its body.
How is this relevant to the silverfish being on my toilet seat? It's so obvious!
Thanks to my superior analytical skills, I've clearly solved the "why" question! Now all that's left is the "how"!
Hey, look! We're at the end of this post! I bet you're just dying of jealousy, aren't you? Aren't you? I pissed on a silverfish! Wouldn't that make anyone jealous?
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